Everything I can’t see but that is there

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Rebel forces abducted him when10 years old. He spent years in the bush fighting against the government army until a “poison bullet” pierced his right shin – the wound was small but caused the flesh on most of his leg to rot. In 2004 he was captured by government soldiers and brought to an NGO “reception” center.

He told me that there is “no difference really” between life in the bush and life outside - except that inside the bush you have nothing (the most common thing to eat is mud) and you have no expectations, outside the bush you have expectations but still nothing.

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Rebels abducted these girls too. Once in the bush they were forced to become “wives.” Upon escape/return they are now girl-mothers. Their children are known as “Kony’s {the rebel leader} daughters/sons.”

I wonder: How did these girls/women find themselves in the bush and how did they find their way out? (Boys and girls say that they were often forced to brutally kill those caught trying to escape). What have their eyes witnessed and their bodies endured?

* * *

The geography of the camps and their surroundings tell a story - the government’s strategy of interning people (both by force and by fear) in the name of security comes to life as I imagine how millions of people came to find themselves crowded within inches of each other in grass-thatched huts with nothing to do and no where to go.

It was difficult to know which way to look as I walked around the camp. I wanted to take in everything and yet I also needed to avoid stepping in a pile of steaming feces or on a precious pile of fresh beans. As I navigated, I managed to notice a few centrally located watering taps lined with jerry cans. I saw hut after hut with a doorway decorated in red, white, blue – when flattened and hinged together the tin from USA soya cans apparently makes a perfect door. I glimpsed “Being a human being is not easy” scribbled on a shop wall. I greeted countless barely clothed and mostly barefoot children as mucus poured from their noses and sat unnoticed on their lips. I watched women walk to and fro around me or sit idly on straw mats. When I smelled the harsh, rank odor of local brew I also inevitably saw one or a few men huddled close by. My ears registered the quiet – although hundreds of thousands of people are living within inches of each other it seemed as noisy as a suburban street in America on a summer evening.

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There is a tremendous amount of “finger pointing” here – so much so that HIV positive women and men people often stay alone inside their homes isolated from family and from community. Many women are chased away and a majority of men quietly die in hiding. Many people talk about the disease as if women and girls are its repository – infection is most often said to be caused by girls getting “spoiled” by soldiers and then making themselves look good and “sharing the bed” with another man. However in the quiet corner of a room, men tell me that they “realize that it is our mistake” and they explain how an HIV positive result makes them feel exposed to their market (women). For fear of losing their market, men blame women for bringing the disease into their home. Without hesitation, women tell me that if they had a way to support themselves and their children they would never be with a man. They explain how it is necessary to “pay” (with sex) either a husband or another man so that children can eat and go to school. If they could go back in time, men say they would reduce their libido and women explain that they would stick to one man. Right now, everyone is afraid of dying alone.

I am constantly in awe of the courage each of these women and men shows in testing their blood, coming for treatment and boldly declaring their HIV positive status.

a glacier

I spent a recent afternoon in Kawempe. It is a neighborhood located on Mulago Hill - in the heart of Kampala and on the doorstop of the city’s main hospital. Community members call the area a “slum” - this is not a word you hear often in Kampala. After an afternoon in Kawempe, I would agree that the area is worthy of the term.

Our first stop in Kawempe was the home of a woman by the name of Tina*. Among other things Tina is a drama group member, a community counselor and a multi-purpose trainer. In the simplest terms, she is a very active member of the community. Tina does not live more comfortably nor has she been spared any of the suffering that fills the neighborhood. She is simply determined, like many others, to do what she can amidst the hardships.

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While I stood on the mud pile that constituted a “doorstep” Tina slipped into a neighboring house through the cloth that hung in the form a door. As she did this I glimpsed a woman lying inside on the cement floor. I worried if something was wrong - was this woman ill, did she need to be taken to the hospital?

A moment later I was warmly welcomed into Elysia’s home - a dark, damp room. There was a cushion-less sofa in the “sitting room;” the rest of the room/house lay hidden behind a sheet hung from the ceiling. Boxes, jerry cans and stray objects covered the floor and filled much of room’s perimeter. Elysia was not ill but she was suffering.

As we chatted Elysia sat on the floor, her five children huddled close by. The oldest looked to be about seven and the youngest still young enough to suckle on Elysia’s limp breast. Tina explained to me that Elysia and her husband are a discordant couple – Elysia is HIV negative and her husband is HIV positive. The fact that Elysia struggles to feed and clothe her five children was visible. One of the boys sat naked as we spoke. I was told that none of the children are able to attend school. Elysia has no way to support herself and her children, aside from the little that her husband occasionally provides. Her husband comes and goes – he will often leave for 2 weeks, 3 weeks, even 4 weeks at a time. When he returns he throws 1,000 shillings at Elysia to feed the children with. He is often violent. He quarrels with Elysia all night long now. “Quarrelling all night” is another way of saying that he asks for sex and when she refuses he insists. He refuses to use a condom despite the fact that he knows that he is HIV positive and she is negative. Elysia tested negative one year ago – there is no guarantee that she is still HIV negative.

As desperate as this situation seems, I was told that it is an improvement. Initially the husband insisted that Elysia and the children leave his home. He asserted something along the lines of: “I am a waste. I cannot take care of you.” With counseling from community members, he was eventually convinced to stay with his family. However, according to Tina, his strategy now is to starve Elysia and the children. He provides very little and insists that it is enough.

As we spoke, a man entered the home. Without hesitation he sat amongst us. This was Elysia’s husband. He looked healthy and well dressed – he even wore a gold watch. As his wife struggles and his children go hungry, he is clearly well taken care of.

I left the house wondering: what would tonight be like in this home? Is Elysia’s heart heavy with dread every time her husband walks through the door? Does she hope that maybe this time will be different? How can it be that it is best for Elysia to stay with her husband despite the little that he gives her and the constant risk of HIV infection? What does this man need? What would convince him that he is not a waste; that he can live; that he must not only live but also give his wife and children a life? I slipped out past the curtain with a heavy heart.

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Back at home that evening, my friend asked me: if people in Kawempe could have anything, what is it that they need? I had no response for him. I was reminded of the analogy I often hear – HIV/AIDS is like a glacier; the disease’s causes and effects extend far beyond what is initially apparent. Remarkably, it is not illness that the people I met are suffering from. Although many are infected with and all are undeniably affected by HIV/AIDS it is not better health services that they need. (This may be because they live within meters of one of the largest HIV/AIDS service providers in the country).
If not health services, what is it that would make their life better? The opportunity to not live in impoverished conditions, the means to feed their children, the possibility to send their children to school; the freedom to control if and how they are infected with HIV; the luxury to live free of the economic and the emotional devastation of HIV/AIDS.

*I changed all names.